


finite

by Kalael



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2019-03-16 15:11:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13638774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalael/pseuds/Kalael
Summary: It’s because Akira won’t take care of himself, Ryo reasons, that he must do the damn job for him.He laughs like the memory of blood and grit is the punchline to sentimentality.(Short drabble collection that may be expanded upon)





	1. Chapter 1

_i. sacrament_

Dumping the expensive bottle of merlot onto the white floor was incredibly satisfying.

“You,” Akira mourned, “are an idiot.”

Ryo hadn't answered, just held the bottle upside down until the contents had been emptied. He dropped the bottle into the mess and it made a jarring sound before it rolled away, dragging a wet red trail behind it.

“That had to have been, like, a good three hundred dollars. That’s so much money on the floor.”

“You don’t even like wine.” Ryo said offhandedly.

“Can’t get the taste of communion out of my mouth.” Akira admitted, and Ryo glanced at him from the corner of his eye. The demon Amon wouldn’t be able to disassociate Akira’s memory of communion wine, even if Akira didn’t recognize that now.

Ryo himself had never been able to drink wine. It tasted too much like human blood, coppery and acrid. It burned all the way down.

“I always did prefer bourbon.” Ryo murmured. Akira made a face regardless.

 

_ii. seminal_

The bible had been a gift. An odd gift, but one that Ryo had devoured despite it. Jenny had presented it in an irreverent fashion, with some remark of an anniversary, then left him to it. It wasn’t as though Christianity was new to Ryo. He didn’t feel particularly drawn to it as a concept, let alone as salvation.

The word ‘salvation’ left his skin crawling. He reread the passages pertaining to the woman Jael and took comfort in the violence of it. Salvation was not always brought forth by some higher power, he reasoned, and Jael’s murderous agency was proof of that.

It’s not reassuring in the least. He memorizes the christian bible anyway.

 

_iii. temple_

The bigger body doesn’t mean anything to Ryo. Akira is the same as always, empathy leading his actions instead of common sense. The physical changes just make it harder for would-be bullies to throw a punch.

To Ryo, Akira looks as fragile as ever. Crying if he stands too long in front of a news stand, slouching around in that too-big frame that doesn’t seem to fit Akira’s soft eyes. He looks awkward in this new skin, even if no one else seems to notice. Ryo notices, of course. He knows everything there is to know about Akira.

When Akira cries after battle Ryo holds him close, hands gently smoothing over broad shoulders, and Ryo knows this body is only barely strong enough to house that beautiful soul.

 

_iv. covenant_

It’s because Akira won’t take care of himself, Ryo reasons, that he must do the damn job for him.

 

_v. supplication_

The end of the world passes quickly. The resetting of time is not so arduous a task to the divine, and once again Satan finds themself standing at the edge of eternity.

Utter despair. Again, Satan has failed. The life of Akira was more precious than anything, and yet Satan had failed.

 _Do you yield?_ The voiceless Father asks. Satan snarls, hurls stones, watches them splash soundlessly into a red sea.

The only existence who has ever deserved an apology has been Akira. The only one Satan would ever kneel before has always, always been Akira.

The world starts anew.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a prompt from an anon on tumblr, "we knelt by the lake"

“We knelt by the lake,” Akira starts, and Ryo looks at him with a frown.

“We baptised ourselves.” He mutters in remembrance. Akira’s mouth quirks into a stilted smile that looks awkward on his new face, that thin mouth and sturdy chin.

“We rubbed our hands so roughly with the sand that they bled!” He laughs like the memory of blood and grit is the punchline to sentimentality. Ryo folds his hands into gentle fists, the phantom pain of a distant shore pulling against his memory.

They had scooped sand into their palms and rubbed their skin clean of the day. Ryo had looked at Akira like he was the moon, waning into slivered reflection. He’d been radiant even if he’d only been half lit, so far from town and so close to the dark water. Cold lapped at their ankles. They’d been bare, and young, and Ryo had felt so impossibly old. Still feels so impossibly old.

Akira’s hands were raw as he touched Ryo’s face, those many years ago, gentle fingers and gentle eyes under a star filled sky. Ryo’s skin had burned with sacrilege and promise and his hands had folded over Akira’s like the weight of eternity was resting in his palms. They had been children. It had felt like a contract, binding and true.

“We bled,” Ryo says now, “and we laughed at God.”

“With God,” Akira tells him. Ryo does not have the heart to correct him.


End file.
